


Thanks for that, Boss

by bog wump (bogwump)



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Blow Jobs, Frottage, I'm gay, Making Out, Masturbation, Other, Reader is a diamond dog, Reader-Insert, Semi-Public Semi-Sex, Touch-Starved Venom Snake, Venom Snake's gonna be called BB throughout this fic cos of reader's POV but it's Venom don't worry, gender neutral reader, hot makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-03-16 03:43:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13627905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogwump/pseuds/bog%20wump
Summary: Venom Snake misunderstands something you say, but you both roll with it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I uploaded this and deleted this once before but,...here it is again.

“I just scratched at it. It’s fine.”

“If it’s still bleeding it’s NOT fine. You should let a medic take a look at that cut, Snake. The knife could have been poisoned and _that’s_ why it reopened”

Big Boss bounds past you, so quickly you barely have time to get starstruck as you’re crossing the command platform. But you do catch a glimpse of the bloody cloth pressed against his forehead and an eyeful of Ocelot walking beside him. You shouldn’t be nosy, but…who truly can resist? You all but stop in your tracks to listen in to their conversation over your shoulder, trying not to make it too obvious. You figure The Boss probably got wounded on the mission he just came back from. He landed less than 10 minutes ago…not that you were paying that much attention or super excited about it or anything.

“…I’m heading to my quarters. It’s fine.”

Ocelot huffs behind you and you can sense his agitation. You quickly decide to pick up your pace and hoof it back to where you belong, but you’re only a few steps in before you’re spotted.

“Jumping Stoat.”

Your ears perk up at your Diamond Dog name and you snap around to look at Ocelot. Does he know you were eavesdropping? Is he in a bad enough mood to make you regret it? He flicks his gaze in the direction the Boss just retreated.

“Go check him out.”

You straighten your back and give him a salute, and beneath that, hope you actually HAVE all the proper supplies in your medpack to do your job. The fact that he’s called on you, more often the medical platform’s personal maid than the one patching folks up, to check on the Boss betrays more worry than Ocelot would readily admit to. You’d be touched, if you weren’t so busy trying to frankenstein memories of “how to treat a laceration” together.

You scramble to the Boss’s quarters, following clumsily in his footfalls, and knock nervously on the door. For a little while you hear nothing, and you twiddle your thumbs until you eventually hear the muffled shuffling of the Boss’s gear. The door opens and the Boss is looking at you wearily. Your throat is dry.

“Uh, Ocelot’s orders, sir.” You motion down to the medpack on your hip. The Boss pauses, turns around and motions you in. He sits back on a chair and you close the door behind you. Ok, Stoat, no big deal. You’re treating the Boss. This is just like any other soldier.

You drag another chair over and sit close to him so you can give him his check-up, close enough that your legs have to rest slightly between each other. You put on sterile gloves from your medpack and put your hand to his chin, moving his face so you can examine the nasty cut someone gave his brow. The Boss lets you, closing his eye, letting you direct him. You clean his cut with alcohol pads and he’s quiet, not even flinching. Many of the Diamond Dogs fuss like a toddler would when you reach that step, but you expected nothing less than stoicism from the legendary soldier. The wound looks normal, no unusual swelling or redness, it doesn’t even look deep enough to constitute stitches. He was probably telling the truth to Ocelot, after all. After you apply styptic, you stop focusing on your job, but you don’t remove your hands yet. You…kind of can’t help it. You don’t get this close this often, and with his eye closed like this he just looks so picturesque. If not very weary…actually he looks kind of beat. You retract your hands and peel off your gloves.

“I think you were right not to be worried, Boss. Does it still hurt?”

The Boss shakes his head just slightly, barely responding to you. You know you should probably take your leave, but you don’t want to move. You want to do more.

“I…hmm…” you start, you can’t think of a way to say what you’re thinking, to find a reason to be in the room. Your voice comes out breathless, “I want to do my best…to make you feel good. However I can.”

The Boss’s eyebrows shoot up and his exhaustion is taken over by an amused expression. Oh. OH. You didn’t mean it like that! Like, you definitely wouldn’t be adverse to it, like, you’ve definitely thought about it multiple times he’s sparred with you…and close to every time you couldn’t sleep and were kinda horny. But- uh- stupid. You are the dumbass mayor of idiot town.

“Don’t look so nervous, Stoat,” The Boss chuckles at you and you think a Diamond Dog shouldn’t blush as hard as you’re blushing right now, “Be my guest.”

The Boss leans back in his seat and his legs spread slightly, pressing against yours. Relaxing, he is a far sight from the square shouldered commander who can toss the biggest opponent to the ground in ten seconds flat. What you’re seeing is a sight for Kaz or Ocelot, not you. You try not to get drunk off the privilege, but you definitely feel a little tipsy from it.

Fuck it. You know what? You push the chair back, kneel between his legs, and decide not to clarify what you originally meant.

Slowly, experimentally, you drag your hands up the criss-crossing harnesses and rough, sturdy fabric covering his legs. His boots squeak against the laminate flooring, he opens his legs wider invitingly. Your thumbs rub circles on his inner thighs, searching for the promise of body heat through layers of weather-resistant fabric. You look up to his face and he’s looking right back at you. Fuck. You wonder if he has any idea how handsome he is, or if he even would care.

“Boss…can I, uh, can-?”

“You’re doing good, Stoat. Go ahead.”

Your fingers fumble with his belt harness, then the zipper on his fatigues, and soon tremblingly cup his warm, thick length through his over-washed cotton briefs. You hum and shudder, clamping your legs tightly together because suddenly, uh, there’s way too much pressure building between them. The Boss lets out a chuckle above you.

“No need to get so excited, Stoat.”

He smirks at you and you scowl a little. He’s your superior, but this isn’t sparring practice so unless he’s about to throw you face down against the floor he shouldn’t tease you. That didn’t come out right. But anyway, you’ll show him excited. You look him straight in the eye while you lick up the length of his shaft through his briefs. He sharply inhales and you feel him harden under your tongue. You make quick work of pulling him out of his underwear and immediately press your tongue flatly against his thick cock, working it slowly up the sensitive underside of his length and swirling it around the head.

His breath is quickening, but you wait until he’s nice and wet before you take in his length until your lips meet your hand wrapped around the base. As you come up you meet his eye again, and he looks kind of like he does when you’re sparring; intense and focused, but heavier. Hungrier. You get to work, bobbing your head in his lap, mouth and hand working in tandem, tongue pressed flesh against his warmth. You feel one of his hands ball itself in your shirt, and suddenly you realize he’s leaning over you. This is great, but you wonder if you can get him to moan.

You take his length as deep as you can and swallow around him. He makes a noise halfway between a grunt a deep, guttural growl. It sends a wave of arousal straight through you that makes you realize how unoccupied your other hand is. You release it from its grip around the Boss’s leg and unbuckle your own belt harness, reaching hastily into your pants.

You moan unabashedly against the Boss’s cock, hollow out your cheeks and rut desperately against your hand. The Boss’s prosthetic is balled up in your collar, and despite his usual collected demeanor he’s panting as his thick hips hitch into your mouth. Desperate, deeper. A desire not to choke on him is stuck way in the back of your mind, behind how good your hand feels between your legs and how each little noise he makes sounds so fucking good. You taste precum, feel drool dribble down your chin, and briefly think about how absolutely fucked you will look leaving his quarters. Then you decide you don’t really care.

“Stoat. I-I’m going to-“ His voice is low and gravelly, breathy and urgent. You whimper against his skin.You greedily bury your head in his lap and swallow around him. With another heated growl, the Boss cums in your mouth, the hand wrapped up in your fatigues pressing you so close to his pelvis that you can barely breathe. The lack of oxygen seems to be the exact thing you needed because you see stars and follow the Boss’s lead, cumming hard all over your own hand as you swallow. Somehow when you are able to see again, you and the Boss have slightly untangled yourselves, and you pull away from him and buckle yourself up again. You feel exhausted but he looks absolutely spent. God damn it if you don’t feel proud as hell. You get your wobbling legs to somehow carry you over to the sink and you wash up a little before returning to gather up your medical supplies back into their pack. You smooth yourself out, fully aware that there’s not much you can do to unfuck your face before another Diamond Dog or, god forbid Ocelot sees it.

You turn back to the Boss, who has just barely gathered himself enough to buckle up, before you show yourself out.

“Thank you, Boss. I hope I made you feel better.”

The Boss pauses for a second, then nods at you smiling. You return his smile and turn back to the door.

“Stoat.”

You pause again.

“Come back and let me return the favor sometime.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first chapter before I actually played Phantom Pain, and this fic was intended to be a one-off. But, as it turns out, Venom Snake is a really interesting character and I wanted to explore my interpretation of his weird isolation from other people...through makeout fantasies.
> 
> Who knows, maybe I'll write another chapter after I actually finish the game and my interpretation changes again. Or maybe not. Only God knows.

When you sealed the door to his quarters that night, you didn’t anticipate that it would be months until you saw The Boss again. 

You may be a little disappointed but you aren’t surprised. Kaz and Ocelot have Mother Base running smoothly so Big Boss can be where he’s needed on the field, doing the impossible. Of course he’s come back home plenty of times, but you haven’t been lucky enough to catch him during those visits. You hear about them through the usual gossip and social osmosis, the collective high the _entire base_ feels after each brief interaction with everyone’s _hero_. In the days coming down from a visit, stories about him circulate until nobody can remember what happened when to who. 

That’s one of the reasons why, even if it _was_ appropriate workplace conversation, you wouldn’t have told anyone about your _experience_ with The Boss anyway. As far as you’re aware, only Ocelot knows you saw Big Boss that night. He told you to visit The Boss’s quarters in the first place and he caught you sneaking out after. You weren’t sure at the time (and you still aren’t) if the pointed smirk he shot you implies that he knows what you did. You operate off the assumption that Ocelot knows everything that’s going on always. Not a dick gets sucked on this PMC Base without him having already sent 3 sleeper agents to check out the FOB (fellatio operating base). Sure. Why not. Other than that, you keep a lid on the whole thing. 

As always, in Big Boss’s absence his shadow still looms over base. After all, his legacy is what you all work for, it’s the reason each Diamond Dog gets out of bed in the morning. But after a while without seeing Pequod touch down, everyone’s adoration for the man moves to the back of their mind. When you live in a shadow perennially, it’s hard to tell when it’s dark outside.

By the next time you encounter him, you haven’t actually thought or talked about about your Boss in a long time. You are, in fact, thinking about food when it happens. You’re on duty patrolling the lowest walkways of the Medical Platform while it feels like _everyone_ else is breaking for dinner in the mess. You’re mentally bemoaning the fact that you’ll probably break this shift to cold, leftover dregs of ukha for the millionth time this month when you’re pushed from behind and another strike sends your MRS-4 clattering to the ground. Your arm is roughly tugged backwards, sending spikes of pain from your elbow to your shoulder. Off balance, you fall backward into a sturdy wall of a person who wraps one arm around your neck and uses the other to point a blade to your trachea. Your head swims with fear until a familiar, gravelly voice creaks out next to your ear.

“Talk.”

“It’s an honor…to be held in your iron grip, Boss!”

The knife is insistent and his grip doesn’t slacken.

“ _Talk_.”

“I…I fucking hate ukha.” You wheeze.

The Boss huffs out a chuckle in your ear and lets you go. You stumble forward and get your bearings before automatically wheeling around to salute him. Big Boss commands _respect_ as a legendary soldier and mercenary hero, but instead you mostly just feel fondness when you see his amused expression. You break out into a shameless grin. Maybe it’s the leftover adrenaline that’s got you feeling so giddy.

“Glad to have you back home, Boss.”

The Boss meets your grin and motions you to be at ease. As easily as his absence transforms him from a person to a legend, his presence transitions him back. For some reason, to you, he just doesn’t cut as intimidating a figure as The Boss that Eagle Ray and Falcon talk about, despite their knowing him longer. You’re musing on this as The Boss begins to turn to walk away. 

“Boss, wait.”

The Boss turns back to you. This is your chance to ask and you would kick yourself if you didn’t.

“I’m sorry, Boss, uh. I…wanted to know if you remember a few months ago,” you swallow thickly and your voice cracks, “what you said about…returning a favor?”

The Boss leans in toward you and you start to babble (“like- if you want- I was wonder-uh”) but he cuts you off, voice so low it’s almost a whisper.

“Right now, Stoat?”

That’s a good question. Now? Does he mean now NOW, like now _HERE_? Like is The Boss about to ravage you on the Medical Platform or is he offering to throw you over his shoulder and dick you down in an empty patient room?…Do you honestly care what The Boss does to you as long as it’s him and it’s hot and it’s _The Boss_?

“…Yeah? Is that…okay?" 

Quite suddenly, the Boss wraps his hands in the front of your fatigues and lifts you so your boots are _almost_ touching the steel grating of the walkway. You swallow something between a question and a surprised gasp as he begins to bound forward, leaving you no choice but to brace against his arms and hope you didn’t gravely misunderstand something here. You imagine Kaz filing out the paperwork; “Jumping Stoat: Thrown into the ocean for criminally horny insubordination”. But The Boss does set you down again, in the shade of the alcove by the cargo storage room, your back pressed up against the corner where the shutters meet the cold metal wall. The Boss’s face is really close to yours, and you feel warm under the collar of your fatigues.

“What do you want me to do?”

You begin to open your mouth but only a hoarse squeak escapes out. Is ‘everything’ a good answer? You decide to just answer him by wrapping your hand around the back of his neck and kissing him roughly, and The Boss lets you. His beard is rough against your skin and his lips are dry, but you really couldn’t care. You move gently against his lips, but he meets the kiss haltingly. You pull back, which is a little hard with his hands still curled up in your fatigues.

“Boss, uh, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. Do you want to do this?" 

The Boss looks a little perturbed, his hands slacken in their grip and he looks you up and down.

“I do. I’m not sure what you want me to do.” 

“I want you…to do whatever you want to me. I’m happy to be here with you, Boss.”

The Boss seems to process that for a second while you try to read his expression. You don’t know how to begin to figure out what he’s thinking, but his hands tighten again in your collar. He brings your lips together, huddling you up against the wall. You wrap your arms over his shoulders to encourage him closer, pressing his body up against yours. He kisses you very deeply, and you can’t help but whimper against his mouth. 

“Boss,” You pull back for a second, and notice that you’re breathing a lot heavier than he is, “D-do you want to touch me?”

The Boss responds by trailing his hand down the front of your fatigues and tugging your shirt up where it was tucked in to your pants, popping a _few_ buttons with the roughness of the motion.His hands snake under the seam, traveling slowly over your hips, feeling your skin. He kneads the fleshier parts of your back before settling near your waist and you lean in to rest your forehead against his. Your suggestion was a bit more _suggestive_ than this, but it dawns on you, dimly, that The Boss probably doesn’t get a lot of skin to skin contact, let alone _pleasant_ skin to skin contact. The Dogs on base were never dry in that department, constantly around their companions; pats on the back, amicable sparring, medical checkups, and of course everything more salacious that you could find if you looked for it. Meanwhile The Boss could spend days alone in the sand, only coming into contact with another person when he was about to smash their head into a wall. Petting DD isn’t the same thing. The revelation is somewhat striking, and to be in this position makes you feel honored, and sort of sad, and unbearably attracted to him. You wrap a leg around his thigh and drag your hands up his neck and into his hair, gently raking your nails down his scalp.

You pull him back into a kiss, rolling your tongue against the part in his lips, over the dip of his scar. He opens his mouth against yours and meets your tongue with a deep growling noise. The Boss brings his thigh up between your legs, eliciting a full-body shudder from you. You break away from the kiss to adjust your hips, getting the the newly-introduced pressure exactly where you want it. His hands are on the small of your back, guiding your motion, you feel heat start to pool in your stomach as you grind against him. A needy moan slips out when you buck your hips just right, and The Boss’s hand flies, quicker than you can follow, out from under your shirt and to your mouth. Oh yeah, you should probably be _quiet,_ y’all aren’t trying to get _caught._

The Boss uses this new grip on your face to angle your head where he wants it, exposing your neck. He nuzzles into you, mouthing at your skin with desperate and clumsy kisses. Your grip tightens in his hair, pushing him into you, and you frot against him desperately. When The Boss bites down hard on the dip of your trapezius, you come almost immediately, embarrassing whimpers dampened by the hand still clamped over your mouth. The Boss holds you closely to him through your orgasm, scissoring his thigh against you until you still, your hands fisted in his hair and the back of his fatigues.

“Th-thanks for that, Boss,” You breathe when The Boss removes his hand from your face, untangling his other arm from your shirt as well. He smiles benevolently, looking wild and handsome as always. You return the smile, looking, you imagine, like a hot mess. 

“Boss, don’t you, uh, want me to return the favor?”

“Not now, Stoat,” The Boss backs away more, giving you space, “you’d better get back to work. Clean up and tuck your shirt in. And don’t mention this to anyone.”

You snap into a salute. You wouldn’t have minded staying huddled up against The Boss for the rest of this guard shift (or the rest of your life, honestly) but you know that’s a bad idea. It happened so quickly that you can’t really pinpoint where you got starstruck by him again, The Boss’s curious transformation from another touch-starved soldier into your monolithic leader who always knows what’s best. Suddenly you think to be embarrassed, and you don’t know why.

“Of course, sir! Thank you again. Thank you,…” You trail off after The Boss begins to walk away, busying yourself with buttoning up, tucking in, starting to fret about when you can dip into a bathroom to clean up.

From the edge of this ledge where the asphalt meets the steel walkway, The Boss turns around to you again.

“And Stoat?”

 “Y-yes, Sir?”

 “I’ll see what I can do about the mess team serving less ukha.”

 You can’t help but smile, and your Boss smiles back.

 “Thanks, Boss.”


End file.
